


That's It

by Szaira



Category: ONEUS (Band)
Genre: Aesthetic of Devil, Alternate Universe - Not K-Pop Idols, But some of them are still related to music, But the story isn't sad (this tag should be after Hurt/Comfort but has shifted), Clubbing, Drinking, Hair Dyeing, Hurt/Comfort, Inspired by comeback, It's not about tag pairs, Kissing, M/M, Post-Break Up, Reckless behaviors, side xido
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-19
Updated: 2021-01-19
Packaged: 2021-03-18 06:55:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28862931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Szaira/pseuds/Szaira
Summary: Dongju mourns the breakup. Hwanwoong wants to cheer him up.He doesn't expect to benefit from it himself.
Relationships: Kim Youngjo | Ravn/Yeo Hwanwoong
Comments: 2
Kudos: 43





	That's It

**Author's Note:**

> Hi ♡  
> I don't know how to describe this work. It's just a little, a little silly thing inspired by comeback.  
> Minor warnings: a moment of something that may be considered violence (unexpected touch), unserious threats, slightly vulgar language? The rest are in tags.  
> My standard warnings: this work is unbetaed, please let me know or forgive me for mistakes as I always do my best to avoid them. And of course, the characters in this story are just inspired by real people.  
> I hope you will like it!

Dongju opens the door for Hwanwoong smiling, and his dimples are visible all the time as he indicates where Hwanowoong should put his jacket and suitcase. He’s happy when he shows him his temporary bed, makes him hot tea so that Hwanwoong can warm up after his long train journey, and when he prepares snacks, carefully arranging chocolate cookies on the plate. His beautiful, sincere smile doesn't disappear from his face even for a moment and at times expands, revealing healthy pink gums and shining white straight teeth, making Hwanoong confused.

Seeing his friend in that mood Hwanwoong is pleased as well, of course. However, it's something completely different than what he heard from Dongju's flatmates when they had contacted him a few days ago, suggesting his visit to their rented apartment to keep Dongju's company when they would be absent.

So, as Dongmyeong and Giwook begged him, he is. With a suitcase containing everything he thought might be needed when he was going to spend the weekend in the company of someone after breakup with - sublime called - the love of his life. Three bottles of wine took up so much space that his suitcase didn't fit many clothes, but Hwanwoong didn't care too much since they were supposed to stay at home, watching movies and playing board games.

And even though now Dongju’s smiling continuously, and more than a month has passed since his breakup, Hwanwoong knows that bringing with him only one pair of pants was necessary. He has known Dongju long enough to know that he is not okay, and his somehow charming smile is also fragile. During his hard time, he called to him as often as he could, trying to keep his mind occupied with something else and distracting painful memories. Counting how many times the conversation ended other than with Dongju's sobbing and a poor attempt to comfort him on the part of Hwanwoong was easy as the score was one – when he called him an hour ago, to inform that he’d been already at the station.

Hwanwoong didn't have an opportunity to meet Dongju's ex-boyfriend and regretted it a bit as he only knew him from Dongju's stories. During their phone calls, depending on the time, weather, and whether Dongmyeong had left dirty dishes in the sink or not, he was extremely beloved and worth mourning or a terrible sucker through which Dongju ate another ice cream box only because of happiness. Anyway, the tears flowed always, and it could seem strange how Dongju has been going through it all, considering the relatively short time of their love. Years of friendship has taught Hwanwoong that the degree of Dongju’s despair and sadness after a failed relationship is usually inversely related to its length.

Hwanwoong doesn't say it aloud, but when Dongju bursts out laughing at his moderately amusing joke, he is sure that it's his presence that has allowed him to forget his sorrows. He is proud of himself when he comes to this conclusion, and it would be better for each of them if he stuck with that thought instead of trying to make Dongju _happier_.

“New hairstyle?” he asks when after choosing a movie, he throws himself on the bed. “Looks nice.”

Dongju runs his fingers through his shoulder-length dark hair. “Ignore it,” he says. “I had a hairdresser appointment the day it happened.”

So Hwanwoong shouldn't have said that.

But it's too late, and he swallows nervously, seeing like Dongju's smile fade into oblivion.

“Hey, Ju…”

It's a moment, and Dongju's eyes become glassy. The first tear drips down the corner of his eye slowly, the next one flows faster, and then tears are uncountable as Hwanwoong approaches and embraces him, pressing his head to his chest.

“Don’t cry, Dongju,” he says softly, stroking his hair and cursing silently that he hasn't figured out that a simple compliment could be the key to opening pandora's box. “I'm so sorry. Don't think about it now, hmmm?”

“He always told me that he loved my hair...” Dongju croaks between sobs. His voice sounds muffled by how tightly he’s snuggled into Hwanwoong. “That it was dense and had a nice color. And that I would look beautiful in longer-length-”

“Shhh, Dongju, please.” Hwanwoong looks around Dongju's bedroom, confused, looking for some kind of attachment as he feels like he’s walking on thin ice, and each new word could cost him more tears soaked into his shirt. “Of course you have beautiful hair. You’re all beautiful.”

Dongju begins sobbing a little louder in response, and Hwanwoong's mind is working at full speed, trying to devise a strategy in which way to lead the conversation. His fingers are making circles on Dongju's back, and he's constantly searching the room for any clue that he won't have to blame himself for the waste of a fifty percent chance of success. Outside the window, the branches of the tree sway in the cold wind, a tee that Dongju decided to wear is black, and from their previous conversation appears that he's not hungry - and that tells Hwanwoong absolutely nothing. He would even be willing to flip a coin, but Dongju shakes in his arms, so he can't even call Dongmyeong for advice as a decision has to be made straight away.

He sighs and takes risks. "That fool didn't deserve your beauty, you know?”

Hwanwoong tightens up when Dongju falls silent and relaxes immediately as he feels his hand scramble between their cuddled bodies to wipe his eyes, smearing the powder on his face. Out of the corner of his eye, Hwanwoong notices the mess Dongju has made on his shirt and can't believe that he has already made two good decisions that day: he guessed that Dongju is in the mood to complain about his ex instead of praising him and besides he replaced alcohol with the lower garment so still has a few tees for change.

“I know,” Dongju says, then sniffs. Everything goes in the right direction. “But I wanted to be pretty to him…”

The ice below Hwanwoong breaks. He starts drowning in a sea of tears.

“Dongju. Look at me.”

Dongju calms down again and looks up, his eyes red and puffy, his long lashes wet. Hwanwoong's heart breaks at this sight, and although the speech he intends to deliver was uttered to Dongju by him hundreds of times, he'll say it as many as a thousand if it's necessary to console his brokenhearted friend. A glance into Dongju's eyes full of sorrow is enough to wake up that poetic part of Hwanwoong which is asleep in his daily life, which he doesn't give a voice to because when there's no alcohol in his bloodstream, the words speaking in that voice sound miserable, weird and not momentous at all. He'd like to offer Dongju something to relax right now, but he's suffering, he's crying-

“Want to be pretty to yourself,” he says not to waste any time, “You shouldn't despair after a bad relationship if you love yourself. You know that a breakup allows you to meet that right person.” Hwanwoong pauses for a second to at least thus increase the loftiness of the spoken words. “The true love of your life,” he says.

Dongju rests his head against Hwanwoong. “I know…”

“Then why are you crying?”

“Because-“ Dongju's voice breaks as his body shakes another sob. “Because he would like this hairstyle…”

Hwanwoong takes a long deep breath and squints his eyes, appreciating that Dongju is nestled against his chest and can't see it. He needs the wine _now_.

“I signed up for a nice evening, not crying one,” he says, gently pushing Dongju away from him and getting out of bed. “I'll show you what I’ve brought. And you will relax, okay?”

‧ ❈ ‧

Donmyeong and Giwook don't return to their apartment in the evening as announced, and yet Hwanwoong breathes a sigh of relief. It seems to him that Dongju's brother wouldn't be too happy to see what he could see, and Hwanwoong doesn't want to be sure of his assumptions.

The room doesn't look that bad - some empty candy wrappers are scattered on the floor, some dirty dishes after they reheated their dinner are on the table. Nothing that Donmyeong's eyes have not seen yet. The people in it don't look that bad at first glance as well. Hwanwoong’s sitting on Dongju's bed, with his back against the wall, with a smile and a slight blush on his cheeks. On his thighs rests his head Dongju, and his cheeks seem even a little bit redder. Nobody's crying, everyone's smiling, and their smiles with blushed cheeks and shining eyes create a sight that is not wrong but charming.

So, there's nothing wrong with what is, and the only problem could be what's not there because the two bottles of semi-sweet wine on the desk are completely empty.

“I don't know if it could help,” Dongju sighs.

Same topic over and over, but Hwanwoong doesn't mind and listens, interjecting his own insights into Dongju's monologue from time to time. He's here to help and, despite his poor experience in relationships, the role of a mentor and guide is much more suited to him than being a shoulder to cry on.

“Ju, trust me,” he says and stops braiding Dongju's bangs, making him look up with sleepy eyes. “Doing something for yourself certainly won’t hurt. And maybe you’ll feel better.”

“I’m not sure...”

“Why not try?” Hwanwoong asks. “Buy something pretty. Or even get a tattoo.”

Dongju snorts and looks away in displeasure. “To remind me of him? Never.”

“You know that's not what I meant.” Hwanwoong runs his hand over Dongju's flushed cheek, and he pouts his lips. “Do you want to go shopping tomorrow?”

Dongju rolls his eyes. “It's ordinary.”

“You’re picky, Dongju, and were hesitant a moment ago!” Hwanwoong imitates him and also rolls his eyes, then bursts out laughing. “I don’t know,” he sighs, “Dye your hair maybe.”

The words hang in the air for a moment, and Dongju gets up from Hwanwoong's lap.

“I'll do it.”

Hwanwoong looks at him in surprise. “Really?” he doubts, but Dongju nods. “Okay, we can find you a hairdresser for tomorrow. What color?”

“I want to do it now,” Dongju says.

And there’s something in his eyes, but it's not a tear. It’s more like a spark. A spark of stubbornness, determination, and urgency.

“I think all hair salons are closed now, Dongju.”

“I want to!” he yells.

Hwanwoong feels him walking on thin ice again, this time because Dongju's fierce gaze of the ice prince chills the blood in his veins.

“You will do it tomorrow morning, hold on…”

“Giwook often dyes his hair,” Dongju says, getting up from the bed. “Sure has some hair dyes.”

“Dongju, what are you-”

He runs out of the room.

“Wait!”

Hwanwoong wants to run after him, jumps off the bed, and is already halfway through the room when he feels it.

He feels the wine.

He doesn't know what he was expecting but definitely not this, not now. And yet he should. It was logical that by spending the last two hours moving only one part of the body complaining, gossiping, and drinking alcohol hidden in a peach flavor, they would finally feel it. That was it. That was the point.

But it was his idea, so it should work perfectly. And it was him who suggested Dongju dye his hair.

He makes sure that the world is turning only in his head, and his legs are still firmly on the ground. Then he runs forward.

“Waste of time!” Dongju yells, and Hwanwoong stops in the corridor, confused, and looks around, trying to locate where the voice is coming from. He blinks his eyes a few times and only realizes that there is light coming from the slightly closed bathroom door.

“What the hell-“ Hwanwoong says as he enters the room with a hesitant step, not being sure whether it's because of being a little light-headed or fear of what he will see inside. He leans against the doorframe. “-Are you doing?”

Dongju stops rummaging in a cabinet under a sink to give him a cold look and goes back to turning its contents upside down.

“Ummm, I'll dye hair?” He pulls a cardboard box from the cupboard and on his face appears a smile that insane, which Hwanwoong hasn’t seen before. “Or more precisely,” he says, “Bleach it.”

“You don't know how to do it.”

“I'll read the manual.”

“You will regret it.”

Dongju snorts. “You advised me to have busy thoughts, yeah? If I screw it up, it'll work too.”

Hwanwoong processes his words and still feels like it isn't really happening. Dongju looks soberer than him but is definitely drunker. Or he's just gone mad.

Actually, he has, because smiling madly he pulls another box.

There's a photo of a model on this package, a pretty short-cut man. Hwanwoong blinks a few times, but it doesn’t help; his hair is pink as it was.

“You can’t be serious. You won’t use it.”

“Of course, I won’t.” Dongju says. “You’ll do it.”

Hwanwoong clears his throat and focuses on making his voice soft and gentle. Dongju is being crazy. He must be careful with him.

“Firstly, I have no experience with applying hair dye-”

“Me neither,” Dongju interrupts. “I've seen Giwook do this several times, that's all. But I'm not sure if you got me right.”

Hwanwoong doesn't know what Dongju means. The most important is that he means something different and isn't going to convince Hwanwoong to dye his hair pink. In fact, if it were a deliberate decision, he did enough research, and Dongju confirmed in writing that he agreed to something like this and would not accuse Hwanwoong of damaging his image, he would do so.

The conditions are different, and Hwanwoong is unwilling, or even unable, to travel overnight to his city. Staying overnight in this flat after such an action would be associated with death during sleep, inflicted by Dongmyeong upon his return. He doesn't want it either.

“Move over,” says Dongju without waiting for Hwanwoong to execute the command and moves him from the doorframe himself.

He comes out of the bathroom, and before Hwanwoong has time to think about where he has gone, he's back with a kitchen stool in his hand and puts it in front of the sink.

“You first?”

“Ah, thank you, Dongju…”

Hwanwoong takes the seat, grateful that his friend notices that he’s slowly finding it difficult standing.

Their gazes meet in the mirror; Dongju seems a bit surprised, and Hwanwoong himself is terrified when he sees his own reflection. His hair looks quite messy, fair, and slightly curly due to a long journey, and his cheeks are as pink as the hair of the cardboard man. It's good that he didn't admit to Dongju that he has another bottle of wine in his suitcase. It's good that they're not going to go anywhere.

“Oh, okay, so,” Dongju mumbles. “Hmmm…”

Hwanwoong notices another strand sticking out strangely on his head, grabs it between his fingers, and tugs, watching the movement in the mirror and wincing, then looks away in disgust. Dongju moves around him doubtfully, pink hair dye in hand, and Hwanwoong realizes that he’s sat next to the cabinet, and Dongju can't put the box back to its place.

“Should I move?” he asks.

“No.”

“No?”

Dongju looks at him worriedly. “No? What's your point, Hwanwoong?”

“What’s _your_ point, Dognju?”

“I’m going to dye your hair.”

Hwanwoong turns from the mirror and looks at him directly. “You’re going what?”

“Dye your hair. And bleach mine.”

“No,” Hwanwoong says. He feels his warm cheeks grow a little warmer, heart pounds a little faster.

“Yes,” says Dongju, his voice a little firmer. And a little indistinct, being the only sign that he was drinking.

Hwanwoong frowns. “Are you kidding me?” he asks. He was drinking too. But he doesn't know what the amount would have to be to let Dongju dye his hair _pink_. “No way. Forget about it. I'm not doing it.”

Dongju stares into his eyes, then looks away and sits resignedly on the edge of the tub. Hwanwoong notices that he's probably stopped smiling but can't be sure as Dongju lowers his head and covers it with his hands.

“Okay, Hwanwoong… I’m sorry...” he says, voice silent. “I wanted to prove to myself that I can do something. That I'm not hopeless and unworthy. I’m really sorry…”

And Hwanwoong already knows. Alcohol alone is not enough, but mixed with his friend's tears, it is.

He blinks, and suddenly his hair is turning pink.

‧ ❈ ‧

"I'll kill you, Dongju."

“How was I supposed to know?”

“From the manual?!”

“It can't be that bad, just show up!” Dongju yells. “My hair has turned yellower than blonde. I look stunning anyway, I can bet that you too.”

Hwanwoong rubs his temples vigorously to brush off the hair dye residue and hears like Dongju, sitting outside the bathroom door, bursts out laughing.

“What this time?”

“Do you remember that sunflower that stands on my windowsill? Which sings?”

“Yeah,” Hwanwoong sighs, “I do. And?”

“So-” Dongju laughs again, and Hwanwoong, reaching for his shirt, notices that its back has pink blotches. He takes a deep breath to calm his nerves.

“Dongju!”

“So,” Dongju repeats. “We look like this sunflower. Pink and yellow, get it?”

Hwanwoong cracks open the door, and Dongju jumps back, barely avoiding the impact.

“Remind me why we're friends,” he says. “Or better go to my suitcase and bring me a tee for change.”

“Hwanwoong. I'm proud to be your friend.” Dongju gasps, staring at Hwanwoong's hair with his mouth open, then he studies him completely, from top to bottom. “You look stunning as hell.”

“Shut up and go get it.”

“I'm serious.” Dongju smirks as he stands from the floor, not taking his eyes off Hwanwoong. “That's it. That's what you needed.”

“Just bring it!”

Dongju finally heads towards Giwook's room where Hwanwoong is to spend the night, and Hwanwoong closes the door as the draft causes his bare skin to shiver. Loud 'your single days are over!' he hears even then.

The cold shower that he took to wash off the hair dye thoroughly definitely sobered him up and Hwanwoong actually regrets it a bit. Perhaps he would rather have his eyes blurred a little than seeing everything so clearly. He regrets as well, or perhaps more just can't believe, that he believed Dongju that the color on his head would be pastel. That the dye is not adopted so easily, and he will certainly not get the same color as presented by the man on the packaging. Well, miracles happen.

And now, seeing himself in the mirror, he wants to tap his forehead so hard that it'll take a similar color.

“I’m back, open the door,” Dongju says. Hwanwoong does it, and Dongju jumps into the bathroom with a black tee for him and a bottle of pink liquid on the other hand. "Look what I found! It's not a coincidence, huh?"

“It's destiny.” Hwanwoong puts on a tee and turns to the mirror to fix a hairstyle that has already got messy. “It's salvation.”

Dongju laughs. Then he takes place by the doorframe like Hwanwoong before, watching him closely.

“Hwanwoong?” he says, voice laced with hesitation and uncertainty.

“Mhm?”

“Can I put makeup on you?”

Hwanwoong looks at him suspiciously. “Why?”

“I don’t know,” says Dongju. “But why not?”

Hwanwoong sighs. There's no reason why. There’s no reason why not. He probably can't look weirder than he's now, but if Dongju makes him so, he will suffer himself watching Hwanwoong for the rest of the evening.

He agreed to dye his hair. Consent to makeup can't be wrong? He agrees.

Then, when his eyes are underlined with glitter and the next bottle of wine is empty, he also readily agrees to choose an outfit for him when Dongju tosses at him bright jeans and a black jacket with red embellishments from Dongmyeong's wardrobe. He agrees to help out with Dongju's outfit, praising his decision to wear black trousers in contrast to his houndstooth jacket. He agrees to choose jewelry.

And he doesn't ask why because there's still no argument why not, and all in, he's having a pretty good time.

Until Dongju doesn't ask him. Until Dongju _informs_ him.

„I called a cab.”

Hwanwoong is busy taking pictures in the mirror and turns to him after a while, questioning expression on his face. “Not funny. Try again.”

“I'm not trying to be funny,” Dongju says, bending down to put on his shoes. “I've never been so serious.”

Hwanwoong corrects the scarf found while dressing up and pouts his lips. The sound coming from his phone informs that another photo has completed a gallery full of virtually identical photos and dyeing hair videos that Dongju forced him to record. He puts the phone in his pocket and looks at Dongju with an eye that is as serious as the words he insists on.

“We're not going anywhere.”

“You've been taking pictures for an hour because you look that sexy, and now you just want to undress and wash off your makeup? And go to sleep?” Dongju asks as he stands up, his voice rises along the way. “You said it would be good if I had fun!”

“I said it, yeah, but-”

“I _want to_ have fun!” Dongju yells, “I don't want to spend another night unable to sleep, thinking about what I’ve done wrong. I'm sick of it. Why do you want to stop me from dancing? Why do you want to forbid me to turn off accusing myself?”

Hwanwoong’s staring at him wide-eyed, puzzled. A crying evening wouldn't be that bad.

He knows Dongju. He knows he will do what he wants. He's an adult.

Hwanwoong can stay in the flat if he doesn't want to go. He's an adult, too.

“I’m sick of this, Hwanwoong…” Dongju mumbles.

He checks his phone, then opens the door and goes out. He knows that Hwanwoong will follow him.

‧ ❈ ‧

Dongju and the taxi driver alternatively tell jokes all the way, funny only at times, and Hwanwoong remains silent. And it's not that he's angry. He is _scared_.

Dongju is unpredictable, and Hwanwoong has known that for a long time. Often stubborn. Sometimes irrational. Had Hwanwoong not called him, he would have forgotten to lock the front door out of this excitement.

Hwanwoong, on the other hand, seems to be overly cautious and always approaches everything with limited confidence, so in the privacy of the backseats, he makes a promise not to let Dongju out of his sight. He doesn't know the city, the club they're going to has been chosen by Dongju, and he doesn't even know what district they will be in, but it's not about that because he would get to the flat sooner or later eventually if he had to.

He wouldn't forgive himself if anything happened to Dongju.

So that's all he expects from tonight - survive. And it would be nice if Dongju really had fun.

The cold night air hits him as they get out of the car, and he regrets leaving at home the scarf he was wearing. The ride didn't last long, but his hands start shaking a bit when he reaches for his wallet to pay the driver because, of course, Dongju hasn’t thought about it.

His hands are trembling more when he hears the price as his entertainment budget for this month fades away. After paying to enter the club, next month's budget will probably run out as well, and it's all because Dongju, all because he's come up with this freaking stupid idea and-

Hwanwoong turns, and his hands no longer shake as fear paralyzes him when he notices that Dongju is not next to him.

He’s not in sight.

He's _disappeared_.

Hwanwoong wanted to survive; now his survival instinct kicks in with all its might.

He runs towards the large queue in front of the entrance without even registering that he didn't thank and say goodbye to the driver, and it's so unlike him that he wouldn't believe it if someone told him he did so. He'd also not believe if someone said that he'd be able to get to the front of the line despite shouts from people, but he's running, looking around, and Dongju is nowhere to be found, so Hwanwoong has to go inside immediately.

The security guard spots him before he can get close enough to start making excuses, which it's not all that amazing considering his hair is pink.

“Get out to the end!” he yells.

Hwanwoong stops right next to him, but far enough away that he can't reach him and disgusts himself before he even smiles in the way he quickly came up with.

“I need to pee, please,” he says in a voice full of desperation, “I can't take it anymore. Please, please, I'm begging you!”

To these words, he joins restless movements of his legs, a sad expression on his face, and an embarrassed smile. Participation in a theater group in the past was one of his best decisions because it's not the first time that acting skills save his life. His pathetic show lasts for several seconds, and the facial expression of a security guard softens.

He must pay and show his ID anyway. Life is not that beautiful.

The corridor is tight, dark, and gloomy; bare bricks decorate the walls, and the only source of light is neon lights, which instead of illuminating the room, give it even more mystery. Hwanwoong doesn't know what Dongju was up to in choosing this place and trembles at the thought that he might ever be here before.

Hwanwoong can't spot him anywhere, and the only sensible idea seems to him to follow people who unanimously go in one direction. He moves as fast as it's possible, and the intense electronic music gets louder with each step.

The room he enters is a small hall, looking even more disturbing, even darker and weirder, full of reflective inscriptions on the walls in contradictory colors that Hwanwoong doesn't even bother because his eyes are drawn to the scene. Actually, to someone who on this scene is.

“He’s hot, isn’t he?”

Hwanwoong shudders. “Dongju! Are you stupid? Of course, you are, you're-”

“He really is,” Dongju says, with his eyes staring ahead, fixed at the reason for all these people gathering. “He's damn, so damn fucking hot.”

Hwanwoong looks there again, and it reaches him that there's just one person on stage and that there actually is something like a stage, which means that they've got to the concert. He has no idea the name of the artist, but by the way this man rapping, Hwanwoong can understand Dongju's behavior. The way he looks justifies that Dongju doesn't react to his questions and accusations, and through his slightly open mouth, his tongue slides unconsciously on his lower lip.

Hwanwoong can't tell if the rapper’s hair is bluer or greener as the light is wretched, but it definitely matches the shiny net-sleeved shirt and the black tie he's wearing. And to a voice so low that Hwanwoong catches himself listening to it while holding his breath.

Dongju sighs so loud that Hwanwoong hears it despite loud music. “He’s so fucking-”

“Dongju!” Hwanwoong yells, grabbing him by the arm and shakes him, which still doesn't work because he doesn't take his eyes off the rapper. “What’s wrong with you? Are you ok?”

“Do you think he might like me?” he asks.

So he’s not. Or maybe, after all - he is.

Hwanoong smiles to himself at the thought that probably this full of frivolity evening has let Dongju finally forget about his ex and look at someone else. Even if this change is temporary, it was worth the stress he had just experienced, it was worth dyeing his hair _pink_.

“How do I know?” Hwanwoong says, cheerfully, gaily. “Ask him.”

Dongju is safe and sound right next to him, relaxed and happy, and all the accumulated emotions burst Hwanwoong from the inside to the point that he can't help it, and, in response to his own stupid words, he laughs so intensely that his abdominal muscles tense bending him in half.

He must look like an idiot, a pink-haired guy standing alone in the middle of the crowd, laughing for whatever reason, when all the people around are seriously into the beat. He brings himself to order, calming his breath and wiping the stray tears of joy from the corners of his eyes as a cold shiver runs down his spine.

He’s standing in the crowd alone because Dongju is halfway towards the stage.

Adrenaline hits him and before he realizes what's happening is already on the way, too, trying to squeeze through the crowd, and pushing people apart, bending under their outstretched hands, and everything is disgusting, sweaty and musty-

“Dongju!” he yells.

It's not easy to spot him, and Hwanwoong only sees his blonde bun when he jumps up and focuses his eyes properly. It would be easier if _Dongju_ had pink hair. Or if Hwanwoong had thought over his words hours earlier and nothing would have had to be easier because they would be sitting further in Dongju's room, eating biscuits and sipping salty tears with sweet wine. He bends down, straightens, and jumps round and round, and the distance between them is not shortened but lengthened.

“Dongju!”

“Hey!” Hwanwoong stops suddenly when someone's hand lands on his chest. He almost crashes onto his back, but someone who has stopped him was vigilant enough to clench his fists neatly on his clothes in time, kindly stopping him from falling. “What's wrong with you?” hisses a man, massive and terrifying, “Do you really think if you want to get closer to the stage, you can just-“

His words fade away as Hwanwoong sees like Dongju throws one leg over the landing and pulls up on his arms, emerging from below and appearing in view of people smoothly.

This is so absurd that Hwanwoong would love to laugh again even at the expense of the people around believing he is crazy, but the sight of Dongju walking confidently towards the rapper makes him feel like jelly as the paralysis subsides, and he becomes limp in the arms of the man who is still yelling at him.

Hwanwoong got close enough, and now he’s watching everything too clearly, every step of Dongju, his every move. The rapper notices him, stops rapping, and the silence that lingers hurts even though the music is just as loud as it was. No matter which predator Dongju reminds, he acts exactly like that, approaching a specific target with a wild smile on his lips and this damn confidence that Hwanwoong hasn't seen in Dongju since-

Never actually.

The man shakes Hwanwoong’s shoulders. “What did you say?!”

Did he say something? He's not sure, but Dongju is definitely saying something as he approaches the rapper's ear and moves his lips, whispering words that Hwanwoog would like to know at all costs and wouldn't want to know under any circumstances at the same time. Dongju turns his head, and when Hwanwoong notices that he’s smiling wilder than a moment ago, he knows that he must find out what he said to him now and immediately.

The next words are directed to him, but Hwanwoong hears them like a fog, feels in a trance, with his mouth wide open as are his eyes, although he wishes he closed them a moment ago. The scene he's just seen will surely haunt him in nightmares. He barely feels the pressure on his shoulders loosen.

“What a freak,” the man says, letting him go.

Hwanwoog stands firmly on his feet again and moves as far and carefully from the man as possible, trying not to touch anybody. It seems that Dongju's ascent to the stage has ended without any health damage miraculously, and Hwanwoong puts his hands on his knees and takes deep breaths of relief with his head low. The music is again refilled with a low voice, and the rapper falls into such a flow that Hwanwoong shivers.

Another deep breath and he's quite calm, ready to look up to see where Dongju is and to make it easier for him to find him by seeing the hot pink lantern amidst an ocean of people.

The only problem is that Dongju goes in the opposite direction from which he came, and he disappears behind a curtain that covers a hole in the wall that leads… Somewhere.

Hwanwoong's breathing speeds up again, and his heart starts pounding hard, which immediately translates into a dull headache. Trying to get his brain to work and come up with a quick fix, he only thinks that if he’s turned pale the way he feels, he must look like strawberry-cream ice cream and has the feeling that his brain can be compared to ice cream, too, but to a melted one.

Dongju has disappeared. His little Dongju has gone somewhere, and Hwanwoong is older, and he was supposed to keep an eye on him and-

His legs are working faster than thoughts, so he's running.

The rush in the other way is easier; the crowd is less dense, and the sweat fog is diluted with clean air. Hwanwoong is running, not really knowing where, and trying to imagine the room where Dongju entered and the place of a potential second door.

He looks around, seeking some clues, a signpost, and the only thing that draws his attention is one of the inscriptions that are supposed to decorate the room.

 _To be or not to be_. Hwanwoong reads and snorts.

He wouldn't sum up this evening better.

Intuition guides him until he runs into a corridor filled with smoke, and instinct tells him to slow down as it fills his lungs, and he begins to cough intensely. He wants to go back to the dancing-smelly but at least oxygen-containing room, but the remnants of his orientation in the field indicate that he must be going this way. He turns his head to fill his lungs with air and then goes through the smoke, and his nostrils pinch as the sharp smell of cigarettes reaches them.

There is a faint light at the end of the corridor and Hwanwoong's hope that he will find Dongju there is definitely not faint. He accelerates with each step and is so focused that he doesn't notice the figure leaning back against the other wall than the one along he’s walking until he hears a voice as he passes by.

“Where are you going?”

Hwanwoong freaks out, and the faster-acting legs move before the mind can register that this person doesn't look as scary as the guy who accosted him under the stage. He reaches out to Hwanwoong when he's leaning and probably has no evil intentions either, but Hwanwoong has had enough of the skin contact for today and regains his balance quickly himself. The last touch he can endure is reserved for Dongju, whom he intends to hug with all his might immediately after scolding.

This man doesn't look scary; mysteriously - he does. To get a good look at him, Hwanwoong has to tilt his chin up a bit. Some strands of his jet black hair are adorned with what looks like pins, and earrings adorn his ears. His features are… pretty. Hwanwoong would stop his gaze and look at them more, but the stranger's gaze pierces him, so he looks away and studies him further, focusing on the mottled shirt, and trying to remember to which big cat the spots belong when a voice streaked with mystery snapped him out of his thoughts.

“I asked you a question.”

“Ummm…” Hwanwoong mumbles. “Backstage, I think.”

The man crosses his arms. “For what?”

Hwanwoong looks at him, this time pissed off so much that he doesn’t admire his appearance and his mind crosses only that the theme of wild cats fits him, and he had to put on a black turtleneck under that shirt consciously. Dongju is _somewhere_ , and Hwanwoong isn't going to explain anything to anyone. Throwing an angry look at the stranger, he moves forward without uttering a single word.

Another arm of the evening stops him, this time stretched out in front of his nose as the stranger rested his hand against the wall. “I asked you a question,” he says more firmly.

His arm is too close, his everything is too close, and Hwanwoong can’t help the fact that the scent of his perfume that has blown into the air by his rapid movement caresses his olfactory receptors. Moving his eyes over his too close face, he tries to come up with sensible excuses why he’s going where he’s going for him, and for himself why this smell is so pleasant and so overwhelming, because this guy is annoying, allows himself too much, and no more positive thought about him can arise in Hwanwoong's mind. He tries to convince himself that it's all because his senses have been hurt by cigarette smoke, but when the man pulls away from him, Hwanoong wants to follow the smell. In his head overloaded with alcohol and stress, a silly idea is born that if his pink hair should’ve been like a lantern to Dongju, then the stranger's smell acts on him like a siren singing calling him into the open and rough waters. The worst is that it actually works.

“Meet someone,” Hwanwoong says as he decides to give up. He has to reach Dongju quickly, and the spell has already been cast on him. He doesn't know how much he will be able to resist. “Just let me in.”

“But you can't go there.” The stranger smirks. “Who is that person?”

He smirks, and that inconspicuous smile acts on Hwanwoong like a bucket of cold water. He does it on purpose, teases and annoys him, and he enjoys it while Hwanwoong's insides tighten with stress each passing minute. He's not scary or dangerous, but insolent, insolent so much that Hwanwoong cheeks must be the same color as his hair.

His fists tremble with anger. “Stop asking questions!”

“It's up to me when I stop." The man leans a little more. "Just tell me who,” he says, not touched by Hwanwoong's anger, or reacting to it inappropriately and strangely when his voice sounds soft and gentle, making Hwanwoong feel uncomfortable. He shouldn't react as he reacts, he shouldn't feel what he feels, although that strange feeling in his stomach is stress, stress because he's lost Dongju, and he promised himself that he wouldn't let it happen-

Hwanwoong takes a deep breath and regrets it immediately when it's too late, and his knees react to the smell of the perfume, bending slightly, but enough to make Hwanwoong seriously averse to trusting his body. He should run, he _has to_ run, and this guy in a mottled shirt is blocking his way and rational thinking. Hwanwoong knows the best defense is not to attack but to run away, and he would do it gladly before he disappoints himself once more, but Dongju is somewhere, and he can neither go ahead nor step back.

He won’t hug him for sure. The energy that he would put into it will be devoted to even more scolding, and he will shout at him and preach until he gets bored with it. But so far, Dongju is not here, and to scream at him, Hwanwoong has to find him.

So he sighs. “My friend is there at the invitation of…” he stutters. “Ummm… That rapper from the stage.”

The stranger's handsome face suddenly exhibits other emotions apart from a wild smirk, and his eyebrows rise significantly, disappearing under the jet-black fringe.

“Leedo didn't invite anyone,” he says.

Hwanwoong looks at him curiously.

“How do you know that?”

The surprise disappears, the man smirks again, looks appealing, breaths alluring-

“I would’ve known if he did. You better not lie to me.”

That goddamn confidence.

Hwanwoong is _pissed_.

“Are you his bodyguard or what?!” he yells.

And already knows. He shouldn't have said that.

_“Are you kidding me?”_

Before Hwanwoong has time to look away, he feels like the stranger's gaze pierce him, releasing such feelings in him that Hwanwoong can't even name, can't locate, understand-

He will die, he’s sure.

But his killer is pretty and smells good. That’s nice.

Hwanwoong doesn't dare to meet his eyes, and he has a remnant of honor not to close his owns, so he’s staring blankly in front of him, making sure that, as he previously thought, the spots on the man's shirt were most likely inspired by jaguar fur.

That’s it. The victim and its predator, in anticipation.

Still intimidated to look into his smoky eyes, Hwanwoong looks up slowly and stops his eyes at the stranger's lips, full, shapely, and pretty, waiting and wondering what words are about to come out of them.

It slowly reaches him that he's not saying anything, slower, that those shapely, nice lips are getting closer to his own, and everything around him slows down because the stranger has understood his staring _wrong_.

The first take speed his heart and breathing, and his muscles tense as he realizes that maybe this alluring man is the only one who actually understood it _right_ , who understood it fast enough and figured out Hwanwoong's intentions faster than Hwanwoong himself. Shapely lips are right next to his - waiting for willingness and commitment - and when Hwanwoong finally gets what's going on in his mind and that he really wants to feel these pretty, full lips here and now on his owns - everything happens quickly, and he kisses a mysterious jet-black stranger.

Someone unknown. In an unknown place. In such an unknown way-

Hwanwoong has kissed before, but all kisses he’s remembered were innocent, like those on the shore of the lake or in the school corridor. Innocent and sweet. A kiss in a smoky hallway is so different, so much the opposite of anything innocent that at that thought, Hwanwoong would laugh as he used to laugh at everything after drinking, but he’s unable to laugh, he’s unable to breathe-

As the stranger, but they learn to synchronize in the breath quickly.

Hwanwoong can't keep up with his lips, and he can barely register his hands catching his mottled shirt and pulling the man closer, and he doesn't understand how he exactly knows which way to tilt his head that everything in this mess is so damn orderly. If it's not an instinct, he doesn't know what is. This wild pattern fits him so damn well because its owner behaves exactly wild, exactly feral, but he can't call him a predator since he doesn't feel like a victim himself. Maybe he should feel like that since he's pressed against the wall, and one of the man's hands is leaning against it, next to his head, barring a potential escape route.

Or maybe he shouldn't as his other hand glides gently over his face, plunging into his hair, softly, tenderly, pulling him closer as he deepens the kiss…

To break it too quickly, unexpectedly-

He moves away but embraces Hwanwoong still, and he's grateful as he doesn't feel his own body, he doesn't control it, and his senses are taken over, turned off, and damaged-

They come back slowly. Hwanwoong is dizzy for all possible reasons, and blood hums in his ears, mixed with louder sounds coming from outside the world, which stopped at the two of them. He doesn't pay attention to the world outside, he isn't able, and he doesn't want to when the stranger's staring at him with eyes shining like the sky on a cloudless night, moves his fingers under Hwanwoong's chin and lifts it.

“Look at me,” he demands and tilts his head in curiosity when their eyes meet. “Pretty.”

Hwanwoong looks at him in surprise, intoxication, lips numb and eager. “Hmmm?” he mumbles, eyes pleading for understanding, for an explanation-

“You’re pretty,” the man says, moving his eyes over his hair and face, with his thumb gently sliding over Hwanwoong’s lip and then over his cheek, just below his eye. “You’re all pretty. But the devil is in the details, huh?” he asks.

Hwanwoong blinks several times, blushing at the compliment when he realizes that the point is the glitter on his lower lid, makeup that Dongju insisted so much-

Dongju.

The bubble bursts. Their world. The world lasting too short.

And Hwanwoong is painfully aware of the noise around him suddenly, cheers, screams, and applause, and he looks around, confused, as the music can't come here if he's gone far enough from the main hall-

“My turn,” the man says.

Hwanwoong focuses his gaze back on him, thinking intensely what only ‘my turn’ can mean. If the stranger's turn is yet to be, he has no idea what was before and what awaits him now. As surprised as he is, his uncooperative body doesn't even show it or shows something different as his knees bend a little at that thought unwittingly, his own thought, which excites him, which scares him-

“Do I look good?”

 _He's too confident_ , Hwanwoong thinks. “You’re so hot,” Hwanwoong says.

And shudders immediately at the sound of his own voice. From stress, some of last Dongju's words before he disappeared must have left a lasting mark on his brain, so there’s another reason to scold him, spoken aloud, too tangible…

Too bad that he'll be a hypocrite if he uses it.

The man just laughs. He kisses Hwanwoong once more, lips soft and firm, the kiss confident but courteous. He runs his tongue over his lower lip, bites it gently, and Hwanwoong simultaneously paralyzes and melts under this form of touch, tenderness, until everything ends in the blink of an eye again. The stranger stays close, runs his nose along his jawline, breaths against his neck. “I’m asking because now is my turn,” he says.

Hwanwoong doesn't understand, doesn't ask, and it's all unimportant as long as he can breathe his scent-

“Now that rapper from the stage will be Ravn,” the stranger whispers. “And I think he's inviting you backstage too.”

He steps away. And he smirks, winks, and walks away, just _goes away_ -

Hwanwoong is trying to catch his breath, balance, the meaning of life in everything that has just happened, but it's beyond his capabilities, so he leans against the wall only to move away from it after a second and run. He's on a search mission, and one failure and unforeseen turn of events can't make him give up - he will be able to find time to rethink his life choices, but only when he finds Dongju.

The corridor turns out to be shorter than he previously thought, and despite the momentary delay, he gets to its end quickly. He still spots Ravn putting on a gold watch on black leather gloves with which he's completed the styling, disappearing behind a curtain placed on the sidewall just behind the open entrance to the room that Hwanwoong was trying to find.

He rushes inside just as the music behind the wall starts and the crowd screams loud and crazy. He spots Dongju when the crowd falls silent as the rap fills the air.

Ravn is throwing words _wildly_.

“Hwanwoong, I’m sorry!” Dongju yells when he notices him, “This was so stupid, I don't know what possessed me, I didn't-”

“Ju,” Hwanwoong interrupts him. “I will kill you.”

“Whatever. I deserve,” Dongju says quietly, looking down and pouting his lips naively, thinking that he will somehow pacify Hwanwoong. “But later, okay?”

Hwanwoong sighs. He lost the whole urge to shout at him anyway.

The small room looks more like a storeroom. The bare plaster on the walls is covered with green paint in such an unusual way that it looks as if someone had a leftover of it and had no choice but to spill it on the walls accidentally. Aside from loads of junk, instruments, food, and everything else that people may need right before the performance, right opposite to the curtain in the wall is a leather, torn couch on which Dongju is sitting, playing with his phone.

Hwanwoong sighs again. He was so stressed that he didn't even think of contacting Dongju in any way.

But maybe he shouldn't be angry with himself. He touches his lips.

Maybe he should be _glad._

“Dongju?” Hwanwoong sits on the couch next to him, resigned. “What did you tell him?”

“Oh,” Dongju blushes slightly. He looks much soberer than when he was climbing the stage. More ashamed than ever. “That his voice is low…”

Hwanwoong gives him a puzzled look. “Just that?”

“That his voice is low…” Dongju repeats. “…But it made me feel high.”

“Oh my god…”

Hwanwoong stretches out on the couch. His first promise become a failure, but that doesn't stop him from taking the next one as from now, he never intends to advise anyone else in his life. He will be a serious adult man laughing only at exquisite jokes and saying nothing but serious things. Hwanwoong persists in this resolve until he remembers that his hair is pink. And in fact, he’s just kissed a mysterious stranger rapper.

“Hey, but it worked!” Dongju adds, snapping him out of his thoughts. “He told me to wait here.”

Hwanwoong laughs. Dongju is safe, sound, and stubborn as always.

“Incredible,” he says.

Dongju frowns. “It's all your fault! You told me-”

“Yeah, mine,” Hwanwoong rubs his knees. “Only mine.”

“They'll finish soon, I guess,” Dongju says, playing with his fingers, suddenly embarrassed again. “I don't know if you’ve seen, but there are two of them, the second rapper has entered the stage a moment ago. He’s black-haired-”

“I’ve seen him,” says Hwanwoong.

But his hair isn’t black, but jet black. He looks good and smells so pleasant that Hwanwoong would follow this smell like a lured animal, and maybe he would even get on the stage like Dongju-

“I don’t want to go home now. I can’t,” Dongju continues, eyes fixed on his feet. “I’ll organize home transport for you at my expense, okay?”

Maybe he would get on the stage like Dongju, but he doesn't have to.

That’s it.

Ravn invited him backstage, too.

“I can't leave you alone here, Dongju. I will stay,” Hwanwoong says, smiling softly. “I have no choice.”

**Author's Note:**

> Maybe I'll write the second part. Time will show what will come of it.  
> Thank you for reading!  
> I'm on Twitter as @_szaira :3


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